


Last Communion (a 'Hunters' epilogue)

by msdisdain



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Gen, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdisdain/pseuds/msdisdain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>B'Elanna struggles to deal with the information in Chakotay's letter from Sveda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Communion (a 'Hunters' epilogue)

**Author's Note:**

> This story won the 1998 ASC Award for Best Torres Story. 
> 
> Original Author's Note: I vowed never to do a story based around a song. I am breaking that vow. While trying to find a hook for my "Hunters" epilogue, I remembered one line from a song that said, 'Oh my friends, my friends, forgive me...that I live and you are gone...' With that line, the whole focus of my story shifted, so I decided to use nearly the whole song.
> 
> English lyrics to "Empty Chairs At Empty Tables" by Herbert Kretzmer.

_There's a grief that can't be spoken  
There's a pain goes on and on  
Empty chairs at empty tables  
Now my friends are dead and gone_

Holodeck two was empty. _Fitting,_ she thought as she stood in the center of it, eyes closed, trying to conjure up images from a life long past. A life that would never be again. Part of her had clung to it privately, taking bits of memory out at night sometimes, remembering teasing laughter, shared pain. The deep satisfaction of fighting for a cause you believed in, heart and soul. Her fists clenched, her eyes stung, as anger and anguish warred deep within her. She must mourn. She knew the feelings must be dealt with, must be brought into the open, or they would consume her. Threaten what she had built, what she had accomplished. The program was set. It only required her authorization to begin. 

For the third time in as many minutes, she opened her mouth, only to close it again. She had never before run a program like this. The basics had been laid down years before, in a fit of homesickness, but until today, it had remained unpopulated. It had only taken a few additional subroutines to place a large portion of her past in the ship's database. And now, one request would bring it to life before her. 

_To life,_ she thought bitterly. An oxymoron to the program. The people within it would never live again. 

"Computer, run program Torres beta three seven." 

"Torres beta three seven now running." 

And before her, the old bunker sprang into being. 

"Roberto, supper's on! You can't expect us to wait all night for you!" 

A petite Bajoran woman, her dark hair cut short for convenience, leaned over a large pot that boiled away on the stove. Just behind her was a long, rough-hewn table where nine men and women lounged over empty plates, their conversation loud, animated. An inner door opened and a tall, bronze-skinned man appeared, wiping his damp face with a towel. "I'm here, Ara, settle yourself." 

"We've been waiting fifteen minutes, Robbie. Pull up a bench already!" Niall Hanrahan waved a burly hand in the air, indicating the empty space next to him. Bowls began to move down the table, passed hand to hand in a familiar rhythm, to the stove and back again. Ara dished up hearty servings for all, passing her own bowl down to the end of the table, and was then left holding an unclaimed dish. She looked around quickly, her eyes lighting on the figure leaning against a far wall. 

"Sit down, B'Elanna; surely you can think about the blasted generator after supper!" 

B'Elanna's head jerked up, tears stinging her eyes afresh. She had deliberately not programmed a holo of herself, but she hadn't meant to participate in the simulation. _Afraid it will be too real-or not real enough?_ She asked herself. Slowly, she moved towards the table, watching as Ayala-the only living person she placed in the program-slid over to make room for her. Automatically she took the bowl that was handed to her and picked up her spoon. _Concentrate on eating. Eating and listening. Remember._ The conversation went on around her, an achingly familiar sound, as she sat between Ayala and Marla, the holographic soup in front of her untouched. 

"No appetite, sweetheart?" Roberto half-grinned, half-leered at her from across the table. Even after four years, her reaction came immediately. Her mouth lifted, twisting slightly, one eyebrow raising. 

"Not for soup, Berto," she said, her voice darkening, drawing out the R in the affectionate derivative. He barked out a laugh as usual, and Sam Roberts clapped him on the shoulder. It had been a game between them for months, and the rest of the group enjoyed their sparring as much as they did. 

"One last go before we ship out, B'Ela?" 

Despite the grief weighing her heart, B'Elanna grinned across the table at him. "One _last_ go, Berto? I don't remember a first one!" 

Laughter trickled across the table, and a piece of bread came sailing across towards her shoulder. She deflected it deftly and it landed on the table near Ara, who picked it up and bit into it. "Save that sharp tongue for the Cardassians, B'Elanna," she said around the mouthful. 

Grimaces began to harden the faces of those around her as thoughts and conversation moved to the mission they were preparing to leave on. Voices grew sharper, angrier; the mood moved quickly from friendly teasing to bitter planning. The strike on the Cardassian outpost would begin in twelve hours, and they were ready. In spirit, anyway. 

_Here they talked of revolution  
Here it was they lit the flame  
Here they sang about tomorrow  
And tomorrow never came_

"Computer, freeze program." 

All around B'Elanna, motion stopped. She shoved back from the table, her emotions bubbling dangerously close to the surface. Was this how it had been, before they left on their last mission? Had Roberto been late for dinner as usual? Had they laughed together over Ara's soup, traded jibes across the table, before the conversation turned to war? Had they toasted to lost comrades, to herself, to Chakotay, Bendera, Ayala-did they wonder what had happened to them, as she had so often wondered about them? 

Had they known they were heading to their deaths? Had they been together? Hanrahan's thousand watt grin, Roberto's flirtatious humor, Ara's steadfast heart, Sam's undeniable loyalty-had they been there at the end? Would she have still recognized her friends then? 

Would they recognize her now, the person she had become on Voyager? 

What had happened to the B'Elanna Torres who had fought side by side with these people? 

So many unanswered questions. 

The lack of answers had been easier to bear before Chakotay got that damn letter. 

"Computer," she said, her voice shaking, "resume program." 

_From the table in the corner  
They could see a world reborn  
And they rose with voices ringing  
And I can hear them now  
The very words that they had sung  
Became their last communion_

"To the Cardassians," Marla said, tipping her glass upwards. 

"What?" Hanrahan roared, startled. "I'd enjoy this drink, Marla, not choke it back out!" 

"They brought us together, Niall," she said quietly, looking around. "They gave us purpose. Maybe it's not what I had envisioned my life to be-but I believe in the cause. And tomorrow, we'll prove it to them." 

"Yes, we will," B'Elanna said under her breath, watching the argument grow before her. It was a scene she had observed, had participated in time and again. An argument almost comforting in its predictability. The only thing missing was Chakotay's partial defense of the Starfleet ideals he had never been able to fully let go of. The same ideals they had both embraced after four years in the Delta Quadrant. 

"Computer, freeze program." 

Standing here in the midst of her old life it was easy to remember what had driven her back then. Anger. Hatred. Hunger, sometimes. A conviction that an enormous wrong had been created. She wondered when she had lost those emotions, how she had found it so easy to adapt to life on Voyager. 

But it hadn't been easy. She had still been angry, for a long time. It hadn't been easy. Killing Cardassians had been easy. Fitting back into a system that had rejected her, that she had rejected, had been the hard part. 

That realization didn't lessen the guilt she felt. If anything, it strengthened it. 

_Oh my friends, my friends forgive me  
That I live and you are gone  
There's a grief that can't be spoken  
There's a pain goes on and on_

"Damn you all!" She grabbed up a bowl from the table and hurled it, watching it shatter against the wall. The sound of china splintering echoed in the silence, and she fell to her knees, shaking. Tears came down her cheeks but she did not notice them as her arms hugged across her stomach, trying to hold the pain inside. Trying to hold the memories at bay. When two arms circled her waist, laying themselves on top of hers, holding her as she cried, she had no part of her mind free to be surprised. The smell of him was familiar. Comforting. She sat, slumped over his arms, for a long moment after the tears had ceased. 

"Is this an old program?" Chakotay asked, his mouth close to her ear. B'Elanna shook her head, brushing an arm across her eyes. 

"The setting is. I added the people today." 

"Why?" 

She placed a hand on the floor, leveraging herself up and away from him. "I needed to say goodbye, maybe, to see them one last time." 

Chakotay stood, staring at her back, his own face deeply lined with concern and pain. "We said our goodbyes every day, B'Elanna. We never knew if the mission would turn out to be our last. We knew the risks when we joined the Maquis." 

"We should have been there with them," she whispered, her eyes fixed to the frozen scene. 

"Then we'd be dead too." 

"At least we'd have died fighting for something we believe in!" She whirled on him, anger returning to her voice. "We would have defended the cause to the last!" 

"Would you trade these four years for death, B'Elanna? Your relationship with Tom, your friendship with Harry, the Captain's faith in you, your research, your work? Don't you believe in any of it? Would you give it up to die?" Chakotay stepped towards her, the lines of tension on his face deepening. 

"Yes! If _one drop_ of my blood could have saved one of them...yes..." she turned back to the table, her eyes resting on Roberto. "He saved my life-God-so many times. In the end, maybe I could have saved his." 

"Instead you've saved mine, and Kes's, and Tuvok's, and Tom's, and those of the rest of this crew. Time and again. You have helped a ship full of people to survive, to go on living over and over. If you had died back in the DMZ with our friends, Voyager might not be here right now." She was silent, and he could see her shoulders trembling. "We had no way of knowing what happened to our friends, and I certainly didn't think they'd all survived unscathed. Did _you_?" 

B'Elanna shook her head, her fists clenching together. "No. Not all of them. But some of them. Our friends, Chakotay-they were _strong._ The best. They should have made it. They should be here. They would be, if they'd been on that ship with us." Her voice was accusing now. 

Chakotay moved back as if she'd struck him. 

"We couldn't take everyone," he said quietly. She moved forward, her hands lifting in apology. 

"I know. God. Chakotay. I'm sorry. It's just that--" She bent at the waist, her hands tightening into fists again, a scream of rage escaping her lips. "Damn them! They were supposed to be there. The only thing waiting for me at home is a memory. Ghosts." She turned away again, wanting something to purge her emotions on. Someone to blame. But the people before her were frozen in time, frozen as they were. Illusions. Holograms. 

"I loved them. All of them," she said, her voice catching. "I never felt like I belonged anywhere until I joined the Maquis." She looked at him, her eyes bright. "They gave me so much." 

_Phantom faces at the window  
Phantom shadows on the floor  
Empty chairs at empty tables  
Where my friends will meet no more_

Chakotay came up behind her, staring at the images of their lost companions. "And you gave it back to them. Tenfold. But they can't live on here, B'Elanna. Roberto, Sam, Niall, Ara-they're all gone. We know that much. But we don't know how, or why, really. We don't know what that message from Starfleet says about us, either." 

"You don't think-" 

"I think if Captain Janeway was going to put us in the brig, she would have done it four years ago." 

"And now?" Her voice was quiet. Worried. 

"Now I think she'd turn around and come back to the Delta Quadrant before she'd let Starfleet put us in prison." The gentle conviction in his voice had the cloud lifting, just a little. 

"You do?" 

He nodded. They stood in silence for a long while, each caught up in the picture before them. Memorizing the faces, brushing off the memories carefully and hanging them away. "Computer, champagne, and two glasses." Chakotay recited his replicator account number and then walked over to the bench where the materials had appeared. He popped the cork expertly, pouring two glasses and handing one to B'Elanna. 

"What's this for?" she asked, confused. 

He turned from her, walking around the table once, slowly. Smiling a little. Remembering a hundred nights like the one she had recreated. "They aren't at home, B'Elanna, but they're with us. And they're waiting for us, watching us." He looked up reflexively, breathing deeply, centering his thoughts. "We can't save them. But we can make their deaths mean something." 

B'Elanna shook her head violently. "No. Their deaths mean nothing, Chakotay. The Cardassians-" 

"Are in the Alpha Quadrant," he finished. "We don't know what it will be like when we get back. But we _can_ make their deaths mean something, B'Elanna." 

"How?" she whispered, barely audible. 

"By remembering. By drinking to their lives, to the cause they died defending. Our people. Our homes." He echoed her thoughts of earlier, saying, "I wonder if they sat like this on the last night-had a last glass of wine-a last conversation. If Ara made that same damn soup." 

"Too much pepper," B'Elanna said, a smile ghosting around the corners of her mouth, and he nodded. 

"What am I missing?" 

Chakotay and B'Elanna turned toward the door to see Janeway silouetted against the arch, a glass of wine in one hand. "Am I interrupting?" she asked, walking into the room as the arch closed behind her. 

"We were just saying goodbye to some old friends," Chakotay said quietly, extending a hand to her. She walked over to them, standing between them, studying the scene before her. 

"One last communion?" Janeway asked. 

"I suppose you could say that," Chakotay answered when B'Elanna said nothing. "A last drink to times past." 

Janeway raised her glass. "I'd say that's a worthy toast." 

"You're drinking in remembrance of the Maquis, Captain," B'Elanna said, bitterness twisting her mouth. Janeway regarded her soberly, glass halfway to her lips. 

"I believe in the Federation, B'Elanna. In the rules they set, the treaties they create. But I also believe in freedom, and admire courage and strength. If the two of you, and the rest of the Maquis on board Voyager are any example, I think I would have been proud to call any of them friend." She looked back at the table briefly, and then her eyes met Chakotay's. "I'm so sorry," she said simply. "I would save you the pain, if I could." 

"I know," he said. 

"I won't let them take you away," Janeway went on, turning back to B'Elanna. "Do you trust me?" 

"Of course," B'Elanna said automatically, and then, with more thought, "Yes. I do." 

"We only have each other out here. We have to be family and friends as well as colleagues. But we've come this far." Janeway's eyes met that of her First Officer. "We have plenty of time." 

"That we do," Chakotay replied, his voice soft. "To old friends." He looked down at his glass, an undefinable pain crossing his features. "To old friends." He looked up at Janeway, at B'Elanna, and finally at the shadows of the people he had loved, the people he had fought beside, frozen before him. His hand tightened on the glass. His voice was almost a whisper. "Peace and happiness to them." He raised his glass. Janeway toasted them both, silently, with a tiny motion of her hand. Honoring their comrades. 

"There's a hell of a party going on in Sandrine's, and a certain Lieutenant has been prowling about, looking lonely. I hope you'll join us," Janeway said, moving toward the door and waiting near the arch. Chakotay stepped forward, enfolding B'Elanna in a brief hug, brushing a kiss across her forehead. 

"Nothing has been in vain, B'Ela." 

He waited, just holding her, until she looked up at him. She nodded, slowly, and they let go. He turned, and she watched him follow Janeway, taking her arm and leading her out of the holodeck. Slowly she turned back to the table. Took one last look, struggled to lay the anger, the pain to rest. 

Rest, but not die. 

"Computer, delete holocharacters." 

There was a brief stab of pain as the figures winked out of existence. B'Elanna wondered, briefly, if their end had been as quick. Silently she walked through the room one last time, brushing her fingers across the empty furniture, imagining the air as it had felt, heavy with anticipation, with hope, with purpose. She realized that the air on the ship felt much the same, and it was a comforting thought. 

It had not been in vain. 

They would be remembered. And in the remembrance, they would live. 

"Computer, save program." 

And B'Elanna Torres walked out of the empty holodeck, heading next door. Life was waiting for her. Life would go on. She was still without answers, but there would be more questions. 

It would never be in vain. 

_Oh my friends, my friends, don't ask me  
What your sacrifice was for  
Empty chairs at empty tables  
Where my friends will sing no more _

FINIS


End file.
